


Living in a Moment

by FieryAngel



Series: Cockles [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Episode: s12e19 The Future, First Time, Fly By Moose, Hand Jobs, M/M, Moose Sighting, Nine years is a long time, On Set, One Shot, Quickies, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryAngel/pseuds/FieryAngel
Summary: This came from a late night conversation with a friend as we swapped Cockles pictures via text. You should never leave fangirls alone together.Sexual Tension gets resolved after 9 years. Set during the filming of the wall slam scene from 12.19-The Future. Short summary for a short story.





	Living in a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story here, so be gentle. That said, if I made any glaring mistakes, feel free to point them out.
> 
> I assume the hotel room interior was shot on set and not on location, if not, just roll with it.

The sun was drifting below the horizon as the cast and crew broke for dinner. The world was awash in the golden glow of dusk on a clear day, the impending darkness creeping over the studio parking lot. In a dim corner, in the shadows of the actors’ little homes away from home, Jensen stood with his forehead pressing to the metal wall of Misha’s trailer, his breaths coming in quick shallow inhales and exhales as he tried to calm his nerves and overactive libido. He wondered for a second why he picked this particular trailer to loiter near, rather than his own, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

In spite of the chill of the early Canadian spring, he felt too warm, overheating in the many layers of clothing it took to transform into Dean Winchester day after day. Stripping off the outmost layer didn’t seem to help, and his hand was sweaty as he wadded the olive green jacket in his fist. He focused on his breathing-in through his nose, out with a rush through his mouth. He could do this. 

It was always there, this thing that left him breathless. It was an underlying electrical current between them that he couldn’t quite explain, but somehow, managed to echo out from the source, alerting everyone in their presence of this acute connection. They ignored it for years, their own personal chemistry bleeding onto the screen and single-handedly creating an ambiguous attraction between their characters that spawned the fantasies of so many of their fans. Eventually, the tension between them went from outright denial to joking and flirting harmlessly with each other. They could turn it on at the drop of a hat, whether alone, on set, or in front of an audience, but that was all it was. Flirting. It could never be more than that, could never evolve from harmless into dangerous.

Still, harmless or not, the sexual tension was there and very real, and nine years of sexual tension was a lot to ignore. Denial became more and more arduous every time they shared space with each other. Every time the script called for Castiel to invade Dean’s personal space, the electricity around them crackled just a little bit louder than the time before, demanding attention in spite of the hoards of cast and crew members that surrounded them. There was a reason the fans thought Dean and Cas were eye-fucking all the time. They were. They just happened to inhabit Jensen and Misha’s vessels.

The fateful day the proverbial levee broke was no different. They did their duties-ran their lines, shot their close-up coverage, invaded each other’s space, and all the while, the air around them shifted and crackled unbearably. Their nerves were frayed and they were being short with each other and those around them as the tension cranked up to eleven. That particular scene called for Dean pushing Castiel against the wall of a motel in anger and frustration because Cas had run off, again, leaving Dean worried and feeling betrayed. It was going fairly well, a single camera shot situated through the partition in the room, so they didn't have to run it seemingly endless times. 

Except that they did.

Every time Jensen pushed Misha against the wall, Misha’s eyes would flare with desire and the line, simple as it was, would fly right out of Jensen’s head. By the third take, Misha’s pupils were blown wide with lust, only a faint sliver of clear blue visible around all that delicious pitch black. By the fourth take, Jensen could feel himself growing hard. The fifth take broke him, absolutely wrecked him in a way in which he’d never been wrecked on set. He pushed Misha against the wall, more forcefully than before, frustrated with himself and taking it out on his friend, and Misha let out this little keening moan that shot straight to Jensen’s groin. 

Jensen breathed out a sigh of annoyance and tried to look at the ground between them, but his eyes got snagged and held hostage by the very obvious tenting going on in Misha’s dress slacks. The loose fabric Misha wore wasn’t as forgiving as the stiff jeans and untucked layers Jensen had on, but the trench coat hid him from view. Everyone’s view except Jensen’s, that is. He was cursed with a bird’s eye view.

“Fuck,” Jensen said in a rough whisper, his fist still firmly clenched in the front of Castiel’s trench coat. His fingers tightened and the cheap fabric twisted in his fist as he glanced up and met Misha’s apologetic, yet still lust-blown eyes. Jensen swallowed thickly and reluctantly let go of Misha before swiping his hand over his mouth nervously. 

“I need a minute,” Jensen barked out to anyone who would listen and a loud ‘Cut’ could be heard in the distance. 

“Let’s just break for dinner,” The director called out from behind the monitors. “Be back in an hour.”

“Jensen,” Misha started, but Jensen just turned and walked off in a huff.

Which is why he was where he was now, hiding in the increasingly dark shadows of the trailers as he tried to calm his traitorous body the fuck down. When he saw Misha’s erection, he almost lost it. It was so visceral, so real, warm and hard and a mere foot away from his own arousal. It was a solid reminder that this force between them was very real, that their attraction for each other was palpable and intense. Jensen wondered how long it would be before one of them just exploded from the pressure of it all.

“Hey,” a careful voice sounded behind him. 

He hadn’t heard Misha walk up, but he rarely did. The man was downright catlike in his movements, and the rubber soles of the ridiculous shoes he wore as Castiel only muffled his steps further. Sucking in one last, deep breath and releasing it, Jensen turned to face him, gasping as the low light and shadows played over Misha’s features making him look as angelic as the character he played. He was beautiful.

“Hey,” Jensen answered weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Misha started, stepping closer, right into Jensen’s personal bubble, and Jensen wondered if it were Castiel with the personal space issues, or Misha. They were breathing the same air now, the same air that was doing that thing it does when the two of them are near each other, sizzling and vibrating relentlessly. “I don’t know why-”

“Yes you do,” Jensen said, cutting him off with a decidedly exasperated scoff of a laugh. “You know why, and I know why I had the same reaction.”

Misha’s eyes widened in surprise and his mouth fell open just a little before he shook it off and recovered. He’d never expected Jensen to acknowledge it. “You were… you had… I mean…” he stuttered, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, Misha,” Jensen said, stepping forward and reaching out to cup his co-star’s cheek in his sweaty palm. “Fuck. You know, Mish. You feel this. You have to.”

Misha leaned into the touch and stepped into Jensen, sighing as their heavily clothed torsos pressed together. His head was slightly inclined to look into Jensen’s eyes and he marveled as the light hit them just right, the color of his irises burning bright as a peridot before Jensen averted them.

“Hey,” Misha whispered, “Don’t do that. Look at me. You can’t just say these things, then shut down on me.”

Jensen shook his head and tried to take a step back, but Misha caught him and spun him until his back was pressed into the trailer he’d recently been leaning on for strength. A startled moan fell from Jensen’s lips as Misha pressed against him, one hand wrapped around his neck, the other firmly grasping his hip, pulling their groins together. 

“Mish,” the whisper fell from Jensen’s lips in a pleading tone.The hand on his side gripped tighter as Misha’s hips rolled against his own slowly, sinfully. He could feel the obscene hardness of Misha’s length sliding so close to his own. Close, but not close enough. He wanted more. He wanted full contact and skin and touching. “Fuck, Mish, please,” 

Misha smirked. Jensen was begging him, and it was the most glorious, beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Misha wasn’t stupid enough to hope this would ever happen, that they’d ever get to the breaking point, that they’d ignore the fact that they were friends and coworkers, let alone that they’d be here in the shadows of a very well populated sound stage rutting against each other like a couple of teenagers. He gave another roll of his hips, careful this time to make sure their cocks brushed together. Jensen gasped and let out a filthy moan as his hips jerked at the contact, and Misha smirked again. Misha may have been a bit of a goober, completely and totally awkward at times as he used humor and sarcasm as a shield against the world, but sex… sex he was good at. It was almost like he transformed into another person once his dick was involved. 

“You’re gorgeous, Jensen. Fuck, look at you. So beautiful falling apart for me,” Misha whispered against Jensen’s ear.

Misha’s warm breath ghosting over his ear almost undid Jensen right then and there, then he felt hot, plush lips start to slide over his neck, sucking and kissing softly as their hips found a slow, steady rhythm. Jensen turned his head, desperate to get his lips on Misha’s, and the other man got the hint. When their lips finally pressed together, Jensen couldn’t help but moan, a loud, dirty reverberation that Misha captured and swallowed down as he slid his tongue between Jensen’s lips.

“More,” Jensen breathed against Misha’s lips. His hands dropped from where he’d unconsciously placed them on the small of Misha’s back, sliding down until he was cupping the firm globes of Misha’s ass and squeezing, pulling him closer. 

A crack finally formed in Misha’s composure and he moaned loudly as Jensen pulled him against himself, their rutting becoming a hard and frenzied thing. 

“Fuck! More,” Jensen pleaded again.

Misha’s hands scrambled as he quickly acquiesced to Jensen’s demand. He worked quickly, tugging at Jensen’s -no, Dean’s- belt and working the button and zipper of the jeans open. A thought flashed through his mind that made an inappropriately timed giggle bubble up in his throat.

“What?” Jensen asked, feeling a little offended that Misha may have found something in his pants funny.

“Nothing,” Misha laughed again. “We’re in costume. If the fans could see Cas and Dean right now!” He looked up at Jensen and winked as he worked Jensen’s jeans down to mid-thigh. He moved to his own waist, but before he could get the buckle of his belt undone, meaty hands were swatting his away and working the fastenings for him. As Jensen worked to get him free, Misha leaned in to suck on the sensitive skin below his ear as his hand slid into Jensen’s boxers and wrapped around his thick length.

“Hello, Dean,” Misha said, dropping his voice into that distinctively deep “Cas” voice.

Jensen’s breath hitched as he felt Misha’s long fingers encircle him and give an experimental tug. “Fuck, Mish, God, fuck.” The string of words were involuntary ripped from him as Misha’s hand slid expertly up and down his cock. The grip was strong, the pressure just how Jensen liked it, and fuck, he wasn’t going to last. Nine years is a long time to wait to have someone’s hands on you.

“Touch me, Jen,” Misha pleaded, knowing Jensen was fully distracted. “I want to come with you.”

Jensen clumsily pushed at Misha’s pants, finally getting them and his ridiculous orange underwear down far enough to free Misha’s very primed erection. He took him in hand, his grip mirroring the one around his own dick, and began to stroke, slowly at first, but speeding up as Misha began to rock his hips in time with his movements. 

“God, Jen… I never thought we’d… f-fuck… like that.” Misha was just as articulate as Jensen. His free hand was digging into Jensen’s shoulder, his head rested next to it as he gazed down and watched their fists sliding over each other’s cocks. It was better than porn. He groaned loudly at the sight of it.

“Shh, we’re going to get caught,” Jensen said weakly. Anyone could see. At any point, someone could come looking for them. How long had they been missing anyway? The craft tent was far enough away, and they could only pray that everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to notice their absence. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Misha said just before releasing a particularly loud moan to the universe. And he didn’t. If he was honest with himself, the fact that anyone could walk by at any second was even more of a turn on. Fuck, the whole cast and crew and most of the fans could see what was going on between them anyway, what’s a little validation? They could pull up chairs and eat popcorn while they watched for all he was concerned.

Misha’s tight fist twisted with a flick of the wrist, and Jensen moaned right along with him, suddenly unable to care as well. The steadily increasing rhythm between them was driving him wild, his gut tightening and tingling as he sped towards release. He squeezed Misha’s cock tighter, stroking faster, smirking with satisfaction as Misha groaned and his hips stuttered, losing their perfect rhythm. Jensen’s gaze swept over Misha, taking it all in- the light sheen of sweat on his nose, the way his eyes squeezed shut tighter on every upstroke, the pink flush that stained the skin stretched across his ridiculously high cheekbones.

“Fuck, Misha, you’re gorgeous,” He breathed against the smooth skin behind Misha’s ear, smiling when Misha shivered against him.

“Jen, I’m close,” he said, his voice coming out a dozen or so octaves lower than normal.

“I’m with you. So close,” Jensen whispered, his head falling back to thump against the trailer. His hips thrusted shallowly as he fucked into Misha’s fist. He never wanted this to end, but his climax was rushing in around him now, pressing against him like a weight that desperately needed lifting.

Misha’s free hand slid around Jensen’s neck and into the short hair at the base of his skull as he pulled him in for a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. He gave a another twist of his wrist, pressing firmly under the head of Jensen’s cock, thumbing the little bundle of nerves tucked under the rim and Jensen’s whole body shuddered against his. 

Jensen’s hips stuttered as his sudden release shot from him with a startled moan, landing on Misha’s -no, Castiel’s- crisp white shirt and striped tie. Misha stroked him through it, his strong, slow tugs drawing every last drop from him. Jensen let out a long sigh of satisfaction and allowed his eyes to drift open. What he saw left him breathless.

Misha’s big blue eyes caught Jensen’s and held them captive as he gazed up at him. His hand was dripping with Jensen’s rather copious release, and he brought it to his mouth slowly, sinfully sliding each long finger between his lips to suck it off and swallow it down. His long tongue lapped the sticky liquid off his skin and he moaned for Jensen’s benefit. The look in the other man’s eyes was worth putting on the little show in spite of his own pressing need to get off. 

Jensen watched, enraptured as Misha sucked and licked cum off his hand. “Fuck, Mish,” he growled. “That.Is.So.Fucking.Hot.” His grip tightened then, as he realized he’d kind of left Misha hanging, and Misha’a hand dropped away from his mouth to fist the fabric of Jensen’s shirt.

Free now to chase release, Misha gave himself over to Jensen’s touch. He watched from above as he was stroked and pushed further and further to the edge of the cliff he so desperately wanted to be flung off of. 

“Jensen,” he breathed, as the other man’s free hand wove its way through his hair, his fingernails scraping lightly across his scalp. The sensations were overwhelming, and his emotions were just as strong. His lips found Jensen’s and they kissed deeply, as Misha tried to pour his feelings into it. The hand on his dick sped its movements, the strokes stronger and tighter, and Misha rocked into it as he felt his climax impending. 

“Fuck, Jen, I’m gonna-”

Misha gasped as Jensen dropped to his knees in front of him and opened his mouth wide, his hand never faltering for a second. The sight of it grabbed him tight and hurled him over the edge as he came in a rush with a surprised shout. Jensen’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock as his hand worked him through his orgasm, and Jensen swallowed him down, catching every drop aside from the little dribble that managed to escape and trail over his lip and chin.

Jensen felt a hand wrap around his head and fingertips graze his scalp as Misha pulled him to his feet and into a kiss. He gasped as Misha’s tongue trailed over his bottom lip and down the slight stubble of his chin to collect the remnants of his own climax before returning to Jensen’s mouth to push it inside.

“Missed some,” Misha teased before kissing him slow and deep again.

“Fuck,” Jensen groaned. If he were ten years younger, he’d drag Misha into his trailer for another round. 

“Maybe later,” Misha said with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh… I…”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Jensen.”

“Misha? Jensen?” A male voice cut through the silence, and they jumped apart as if they were burned by each other’s skin.

“Fuck,” Jensen whispered roughly as he fumbled to quickly get himself tucked away.

“Over here!” Misha called. Jensen shot him a death glare for giving away their very compromised position, but Misha just laughed as he buttoned, zipped and buckled methodically. 

“Hey, guys, um…” Jared stood there, looking at the two of them as Jensen cursed and struggled with his belt in the darkness. “Oh my God.”

“Oh, hey, Jared,” Misha said with a smug smile, smoothing his unruly hair back into place. He absently swiped at the cum on his clothes with a laugh before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking it off leisurely. “I have to get over to wardrobe. I’m a mess.” he said more to himself than to the men watching him.

“I fucking knew it! Christ, make it inside next time!” Jared mumbled as he turned to walk away. “You’re needed back on set, by the way!” He called over his shoulder.


End file.
